Empathizing...

 

Woman, O, woman what maketh thee tick
I wish I could tell you I don’t give a lick
But the truth, painful truth, when it’s all said and told
Is that keeping thee happy is worth more than gold

It don’t give me pleasure when yer ridin’ yer broom
But I’m mighty good at clearin’ out of the room
‘Cause when Ma’s on the war-path we jes’ better run
An’ stay out of the house til her stewin’ is done

Yesterdays words brought me smiles and a kiss
I tried ‘em today an’ I don’t know what it is
But I thought you was goin’ to bite off my head
So out through the back door I hastily fled

Woman, O woman, if I had what it took
I’d write one of them thar best-seller books
Cause I’ve lived with ye mor’en twenty year
An’ there’s things I ain’t never gonna figure out, I fear

Woman, O woman, I can’t understand
When God created you from the rib of a man
Why didn’t he take another rib as well
An’ create an’ instruction manual?

Just for fun;) to all you men!
Last night I gave my son a playful push when he complained that his sister is driving him CRAZY! Then I winked and I growly- whispered in his ear...'get used to it my dear, cause we women drive you guys crazy for a long, long time!First it's your mom and sisters, then its your girlfriend, your wife...' he laughed.
  And then there's  those poor dearest hubbies who really do have to learn how to roll with the punches; aka mood-swings:). I dug this poem out of the archives, because the other night hubby shook his head and said, 'I'm never, never gonna figure you out'. I felt a sincere wave of sympathy and empathy because I don't have myself figured out yet either.

When a Poet Dies

When a poet dies

Even nature hangs its head

Mourning with earth’s fellow-men

For the artist that is dead

Honor-rendered beauty

Beneath his touch is still

No more are we delighted

By the nuance of his quill

When a poet dies

We cling to what remains

His heart spilled into images

And word-whispered refrains

Ah, when a poet dies

He leaves a legacy

Of tender, timeless portraits

Woven into poetry

© Janet Martin

A 'poetic-bloomer' has passed away. Our hearts, prayers and sympathies go to his family and loved ones.

Rest in peace Dyson Douglas Mcillwain

Sun-whispers...a Quatrain Cascade Poem

 (we are having our first serious sun-whispers of the season;)

I snitched the first stanza of a poem I wrote last night to try another Cascade poem. Poetic Bloomings is show-casing the cascade form today.

Sun-whispers softly grin

Where winds mutter, blue-cold 

And so this tug-of- war begins

Twixt gray and azure-gold

We long for the kind kiss

Of summer on our skin

And dusty lanes of bare-foot bliss

…sun-whispers softly grin

The dismal monotone

Of woodland's naked fold

Makes a body feel alone

Where winds mutter, blue-cold

Gold puddles warm the earth

Nudging the seed within

The womb of Mother’s nature’s girth

And so this tug-of-war begins

The firmaments declare

Winter is growing old

A duel provokes the air

Twixt gray and azure-gold

© Janet Martin

His Loving Proof

Poetic Bloomings invites us to attempt the Cascade form

(use each line in your first stanza as the last line in each following stanza)

The whisper of a new day yearns

On morning’s far ephemeral brink

The velvet veil of midnight’s deep

Dons pastel borders of soft pink

The past whereon we dreamed and danced

Is sealed, no refunds, no returns

But oh, the grace of second chance

…the whisper of a new day yearns

From astral streams hope’s halo beams

Time dips its quill into love’s ink

It’s signature of mercy gleams

On morning’s far ephemeral brink

The gossamer of purple mist

Embellishes the supine sweep

Of slumber’s bliss; mute murmurs kiss

The velvet veil of midnight’s deep

Ah, what is man that God approves  

Our offerings of splattered ink

His grace in glorious, loving proof

Dons pastel borders of soft pink

© Janet Martin

 When I consider your heavens,
    the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
    which you have set in place, 
 what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
    human beings that you care for them?

Ps. 8: 3-4

Arabesque Allure

Boldly you stare

Silver, like air

And lure me with

Beguiling grin

Ghostly you gloat

And like a fur coat

You beg me to slip in

To you, and do

Those things you ask

But this is not

Some plebeian task

That you dangle

You preen the bait

Sweet spangles

Tempting me to taste

And yield

But I embrace

The gift of grace

And hold it high

My sword and shield

For it protects me

From your charm

And guides me gently

On His arm

Leading me in

Each step I take

For you

Bad, sad habit

Are hard to break

© Janet Martin

Sometimes I still am tempted to stay up half the night 

and write, 

but it is a habit I have tried to break 

so I can be a nicer person during the day!;))

Tonight words whisper in my head

But I will…oh I will…

Go to bed.

Tug-of-war Time

 The duel twixt sunshine-sweetness and surly storm-cloud begins...

Sun-whisper softly grins

Where winds mutter, blue-cold  

And so this tug-of- war begins

Twixt gray and azure-gold

Subtle, its overtures

Of ruby-jeweled limb

Of rivers trickling through the snow

In muted meadow-hymn

The chill of winter-boast

Wavers, sensing the thrill

Of zephyrs tumbling from yon cloud

And rolling down the hill

But then in brutish scowl

He hails his motley fleet

Employing them to spill their worth

On woods and field and street

Across earth’s frigid cusp

His snowy squadrons seethe

But they cannot deter the touch

Of spring nudging beneath

…and soon the blustering

Of shiver-laden jeers

Uncurls its lip; a drop, a drip

And winter disappears

© Janet Martin

Eternal Riches

By word and deed

We plant life’s seed

And render to earth’s portal

The tattered lot

Of scattered thought

And offerings fully mortal

But in this blip

Of trip and slip

And moment-scope of living

We touch the sod

With things of God

In humble, gracious giving

Both word and deed

Fail and succeed

Often confusing reason

But if we live

Simply to give

How full the harvest season

© Janet Martin 

How often we seem to err
In the course of daily living
But one thing is certain and sure
We can never do wrong by giving

Windowsill Maidens

…and there they were

Like robust children

On a rainy summer day

Noses pressed up to the window

Asking, ‘May we go out to play?’

Rosy smiles,

Eager ambivalence

Heaven-splendor lent to earth

Laughing to despondent passers

With exuberance and mirth

What of silver

Splatters falling?

What of landscapes glistening white?

They can hear their mother calling

From a garden out of sight

So, there they wait

Blithe, buxom beauties

In the winter sun they dream

Red geraniums in the window

Where icicles fringes gleam

© Janet Martin

There they were, inside the window at the local gas station! My 'beauties' are looking pretty anemic compared to these...Time for some Miracle-grow, I think!